


Taming the Demon

by CelticWarriorMoon



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU i guess?, Blood, Demon Hanzo Shimada, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Torture, Imprisonment, only referenced, rated mature for violence but there's not that much of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 19:40:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12394845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelticWarriorMoon/pseuds/CelticWarriorMoon
Summary: They thought that they could keep him in chains. Strip him of his defences, lock him away until he was of no further use.They may have tried to tame the Shimada demon. But this demon will not rest.





	Taming the Demon

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys, I'm going to come clean and say that I only thought of this because of what I could do to torture a version of Hanzo that is not quite human. You should know by now that I'm an evil author. >:3 So, the day after I bought Han's Demon skin (and consequently discovered that I love it even more than I ever thought I would), this idea came to me. On the bus to college, of all places. Don't quite know where I'm going with this. Chances are I won't make it into a longer thing, but it seems... incomplete, so please let me know if you'd like me to make a full story out of this! (Even though I realllly have to get back to Untamed Spirit...)
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway

He does not know how long he has been kept here.

All he knows is darkness. Darkness, and the accompanying cloying dampness which lingers. If it were not for the steady _drip-drip_ ping of a lone leak in the ceiling, and the scrape of rust around his wrists, he would say that he had slipped into some sort of endless void.

But there is enough to convince him otherwise. He is not so lucky. At least, he thinks, if he _were_ trapped in some dark void, outside of time or space, he would not have had to endure the seemingly endless onslaught of pain and humiliation.

The demon pulls against the relentless iron chains. Patchy rust scrapes against grey skin, fresh blood blending seamlessly with detailed scarlet markings. He stops, hissing in pain. The taste of blood, _his_ blood, still lingers in his mouth. He goes to run his tongue along the length of a sharp white fang, and he can't help but recoil when it finds only congealed blood and gum. The bottom set only proves the same. 

He does not know who _they_ are, but he does know one thing.

Once _they_ are done with him, done with god-knows-what _they_ intended to use him for, _they_ will have no further use for their quarry.

He will, in all likelihood, not leave this place alive.

He lowers his head, and sighs.

First, it had been the horns. No doubt, _they_ had feared the demon's power. Afraid of how he would use them - which he undoubtedly would have done, if it weren't for the several strong men pinning him down - _they_ had filed them down to nubs, blunt and useless. He had hated the grating rasp of the file against the sharp keratin surface. Every move had felt as if it were grating away at his very soul itself. He can still feel it, still hear the unforgiving scrape of rough metal against bone, uncomfortably close to his ears.

That was nothing. Compared to the agony of what followed, it had seemed but trivial. For next, _they_ took the teeth. The biggest, sharpest fangs in his mouth. Not, of course, without a fight. It was comforting to know that there would be at least _one_ man with a deep puncture wound on his right hand for days. He can still feel the man's tender flesh, the sour blood pooling on its surface, and the crunch of bone between his teeth. The yelling and cursing which had followed he had found all too satisfying.

But of course, his vicious attack had only served as a reminder of the danger _they_ had before them. _They_ didn't need any more convincing to take a pliers to his mouth. Strong hands dug into his face as they forced his jaws apart, followed by the tight metal grip at the base of each fang, a harsh yank, and the metallic taste of blood filling his mouth. Not once, nor twice, but four times. Four fangs, both top and bottom - gone, pulled cleanly from his mouth. 

His loud screams of agony still ring in his ears. He can't help but shudder. He closes his eyes, tightly, tries to blot them out, but he knows they won't leave.

He glances despairingly down at his shackled hands. The claws had been the next to go. Like before, every fibre of his body had willed him to fight back with what little defences he had left. But, arms bound in chains and the same men restraining him, he had been powerless. Powerless to do anything but watch as, once more, another part of his being was cruelly pared away. He can still feel the man's iron grip uncomfortably squeezing his palm, the long, strong talons being cut back almost to the quicks. Exposing skin, no less. He grimaces. They feel pathetically short, the sliver of skin beneath still raw and sore.

He lightly presses a finger to the tip of another. Bad idea. The mere touch is enough to send a spark of pain through the fingertip. He clenches his teeth together, biting back a yell.

_What did I do to deserve this...?_

The cool damp surrounding air causes him to shiver slightly. As if to merely add insult to injury, _they_ had stripped him of his outer garments, leaving him to brave the chilly damp cell without. Slowly, so as not to scrape his wrists once more, he adjusts his position. He moves forward, to where the ceaseless _drip_ ping from above has formed a shallow pool upon the cobblestones.

It is dark, and there is not much light by which to see. But the demon's acute senses enable him to barely make out the dim image which stares up from the puddle.

The reflection resembles that of a middle-aged Japanese man. His long, dark hair, greying at the temples, is pulled back into a short ponytail, a small neat beard growing on his chin. Save for the piercing white eyes, and the dull red markings surrounding them, his reflection could almost pass as human.

Something feels off. He can't help but balk at the sight before him. Where majestic white canines would have once protruded from his lips, there is only nothing, the bare surroundings accented by dried trails of blood. _His_ blood. He winces.

_Why..._

Angrily, the demon swipes at the reflection. Water droplets fly furiously. As furiously as he feels. An unquenchable feeling of raw rage swells in his chest. His pulse quickens, his breaths coming in short, deep huffs.

_They have not won. Not yet._

He raises his head. Narrowing his eyes, he looks towards the iron bars, the locked gate to his prison. His mouth salivates. Despite the absence of fangs, he can't help but lick his lips.

Oh, if only he could again feel the crunch of human bone between his teeth, muscle and ligament tearing beneath, the stickiness of blood oozing free from flesh...

He can't help but feel a smirk tugging at his lips.

_You thought you could tame the Shimada demon? Think again._


End file.
